Tyranna
by Rakaesa
Summary: The story of one High Elven woman. Only slightly crazy...Promise.


"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

"Strong."

* * *

"Steady, now. Hold it. Just a little while longer, my lady."

Tyranna squinted her eyes in effort. An orb of light hovered above the palm of her outstretched hand, humming and glowing. The energy flickered slightly, strong and true, but unstable—there was a lack of control from the young High Elf. She looked extremely frustrated with herself for a few moments. After another second, though, she simply could not hold the energy any longer, losing concentration. The light dissipated in a quick flash of energy and a puff.

The much older High Elf standing in front of where she sat sighed quietly, and Tyranna glanced away with a look of guilt and disappointment in her eyes.

"I'm sorry." She muttered simply, wringing her hands together nervously in front of her stomach.

The man shook his head, long graying hair swaying about with the motion. "You're getting there, I assure you. There is progress, even if it is little. We will get you there eventually, don't you worry."

Tyranna herself didn't look so certain, unfortunately. The adolescent simply shrugged her shoulders, blue eyes glancing up towards the man with a hint of a smile. "Yeah. I'm sure we will, Sir Lannesval."

The man sighed. "You know it's just Zaneir to you and your family." He reached out, ruffling her hair playfully for a moment, which made her crinkle her nose and pout at him adorably. "That'll be all for today, it's nearly time for your lunch. Go play with your brothers or your friends." He gestured one hand towards the wooden door. The room they sat in was rather simple—it looked to be a classroom, except it only had a single desk and a chair for one student, a single large window illuminating the room behind it.

Tyranna smiled and nodded her head. "Thanks! See you tomorrow!" She jumped up from her chair, running to the door and exiting.

Zaneir Lannesval was a High Elven Archmage. The man specialized in many varieties of magic, including light magic, and had taught many people before Tyranna Demonheart. A long-time friend of her parents, he'd agreed to teach her in the ways of magic to hopefully become a priestess, bringing on their traditions.

The Demonhearts were historically light users. Clerics, and early beginnings of paladins, though true 'paladins' did not show up until the Knights of the Silver Hand, heroes of the past. Zaneir watched her go with a sigh, reaching up to rake his fingers through his messy, long hair.

The girl had talent—he could see it in her, just like most Demonhearts had natural talents. Perhaps more talent than most. What she seemed to lack, though, had always been control. Tyranna in no way seemed to be afflicted with any sort of mental illness—but she loved to be active. To move, to climb, to explore the city and play with her brothers and friends.

Magic seemed to bend to her will easily enough at first, but she could never seem to sustain it for more than a few seconds. She didn't appear to lose focus, physically, it simply…Slipped away from her. Tyranna also attended public lessons with other children, and went to a school for an education—she was exceedingly bright for her age, but he was tutoring her as well.

He watched out the window as she ran out the front door, heading off at a brisk pace to find her brothers. A strange girl, indeed.

* * *

Chapter 1

Tyranna walked down the side of the road. At the young age of fourteen years old—a year since she had started her tutoring with Zaneir Lannseval—it was obvious that this young woman would already have looks on her side when she grew up. Most Demonhearts fared well in this way. She had thick, healthy, long brown hair that reached down to past her shoulderblades, very soft, feminine features, some faint freckles spotting her cheeks, and a naturally pleasant pink shade to her lips. Her eyes were a beautiful, deep blue color almost like the ocean.

"Father…" She said softly, glancing up and to her right at the man that walked beside her. The Demonheart patriarch. A tall man with a usually calm and gentle look to him, still young enough in his early middle-aged years, with dark brown hair coating his head.

He glanced down towards her with a quiet "Hmm?" in response, questioning.

"Why is it they learn so much quicker than me?" She was referring to her brothers, of course. Her elder brother was quite a fan of magic, though not too much older than her, and seemed to grasp control of it rather quickly. Her other brother, younger by a year, was already excelling in swordplay for his age. She gestured her head over towards the nearby training yard that they were passing by, where he was sparring with another boy his age.

Her father offered a gentle shrug of his shoulders and a pleasant smile. "We all learn at different speeds." He replied softly. "You have talent in you. Keep at your training like we always have, and your efforts will pay off, I assure you."

Training. Always training and learning. Tyranna had never been a fan of sitting in classes or practicing her magic—it felt like she was wasting time. She adored magic, truly, and wanted nothing more than to grow more powerful with it, but the ways she was taught just felt _wrong_ to her, somehow. Listening to someone tell you how to do something and then giving it a go. Even at fourteen, she wondered if there was more to life than that.

"Yeah." She replied with a smile and a nod, her long hair bobbing.

Her father was always quick to notice when she was just covering up her true feelings. "Don't be so worried." He added on. "You've made quite some progress since last year. You can handle light energy enough to keep it stable for a while."

It was true, but she still hadn't been able to gain control enough to actually use it in any way that wasn't just flashy visuals, or an orb, though other students her age were learning to heal. Hell, an exam was coming up soon, and they'd be testing their healing skills on actual wounded people—not dying, mind you, but injured. The Archmage was arranging to bring one to her so she could focus in private, without students and teachers staring at her.

"I guess you're right." She agreed reluctantly.

Her brother parried a strike from the wooden sword of his rival and smacked him in the chest with his own. He seemed to prefer larger weapons, and so his wooden sword was two-handed. Tyranna glanced over at the combat, smiling lightly. Despite feeling jealous for how quick he learned, she was proud of him and loved him.

"You'll do excellent on the examination, I'm sure. The injured will be in very capable hands." Her father patted her on the head gently and then squeezed her shoulder. His other free hand lifted up and gave her a thumbs up. His belief in her was part of what kept her pushing—even when she was falling behind other students, he always seemed to see something else in her, something nobody else did.

Her smile was more genuine now. With a firmer nod of her head, she gave one of their signature thumbs ups in return.

That was tomorrow. For now, she would play with her brother after he was done training, and take a climb along the rooftops for fun.


End file.
